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[Return to Table of Contents | Ancient Arrow Contents]
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An Excerpt from The Primus Code, Decoded from Chamber 9 |
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Fifteen and Evans came off the elevator, and Neruda strained to make out their conversation. "So you're clear?" Fifteen asked. "Completely," Evans answered. "Good, then keep me informed if there's any change. I'm meeting with Jamisson in a few minutes, so I'll handle him myself. You just see to Samantha." Fifteen began to walk into his office, and then stopped momentarily. "Oh, and by the way, when you deliver the news, do it with sympathy. Put on your long face. Okay?" "Understood," Evans returned. "Oh, and remember," Fifteen added, "I want this handled exclusively by you." "Jenkins knows -" "No, he doesn't," Fifteen interrupted. "No one knows but you and I, and I want it kept that way. If you need to take Jenkins for MRP, do it. But I want this handled completely SL-14." "As you wish," Evans said. Evans walked down the hallway toward Neruda. Neruda ducked into a conference room, remaining unseen. He was puzzled by what he'd heard. They definitely had a plan in dealing with both he and Samantha. His stomach began to swirl like a horde of butterflies trying to take flight amidst a windstorm. It was still early, almost 3am. He had sent Fifteen an email message marked "urgent" about an hour earlier and Fifteen had responded immediately, insisting Neruda meet him at the office at 0300 hours. Typical of Fifteen, sleep wasn't a priority. It also served notice of Fifteen's seriousness. He made the slow, almost painful movement to Fifteen's office. The door was ajar, and the office brightly lit. Neruda knocked gingerly on the door. "Good morning, sir." He didn't try to hide the tiredness in his voice. "Come on in, Jamisson," Fifteen said without looking up from his computer terminal. "Find something to sit in. I'll be right with you." Neruda measured Fifteen's voice, looking for any hints of his mood. All he could hear was frustration, and his intuition told him it was more than mild. He sat down in front of Fifteen's desk in a wood chair with a seat of black leather. Its carved wood arms reminded him of a swan's neck - fragile and supple at the same time. Fifteen hit a keystroke and turned his computer off. Silence filled the room as his hard drive came to a halt. Looking up at Neruda, Fifteen locked his gaze and said, "We know," the words dropping from his mouth with absolute finality. Neruda looked puzzled. His forehead crinkled like a pond stirred by a sudden gust of wind. "You know what I mean," Fifteen said, "so don't look at me with those innocent eyes." Neruda remained quiet, not sure how to respond. Fifteen leaned back in his chair, waiting with the patience of a fisherman. "You're referring to Samantha's unexpected visit?" Neruda asked. Fifteen shook his head. "We know what happened during her visit. We know what you discussed and we know what you're considering even at this very hour." "You spoke with Samantha?" Neruda asked, trying his best to sound casual. "Yes." Fifteen shifted in his chair to ease his nagging back. The tips of his fingers joined like beams of a log home, his customary pose when he was preparing to espouse on a subject. "For my sixth birthday, my parents took me to the Barcelona Zoo where the marquee attraction was the gorilla exhibit. They had an old timer, named Tumba - maybe twenty-five years old - who had been the signature exhibit for better than two decades. They claimed that Tumba scared people because of how humanly he behaved, which was exactly what attracted the crowds. When we arrived at his cage - thick bars of steel - he was emptying his bowels. When he finished, and with great relish on his face, he heaved his feces into the crowd of people who were watching. It was an intentional, carefully orchestrated event. Unfortunately, some of it fell on my mother's dress and hair." Neruda leaned forward a bit, drawn by a rare glimpse into Fifteen's childhood. "My father was enraged," Fifteen continued, smiling at the recollection. "My mother embarrassed. And I... I was hopelessly amused... until I saw the daggers flash from my father's eyes." Fifteen smoothed his long gray hair behind his ears; his characteristic ponytail was missing. "To my mother's protestations, my father took us to the zoo's administrative offices to complain. We went into the office of the director and listened to a rather lengthy apology. When my father asked why the gorilla would do such a thing, the director explained that Tumba had suddenly begun the odd behavior only a few weeks earlier. The zoo's staff was in something of a panic because their star attraction was quite literally pissing off the patrons of the zoo, and they had no idea how to control Tumba's behavior. "Now, my father was a gifted engineer, but he couldn't offer any practical suggestions to the zoo director or his bewildered staff that they hadn't already tried. The one thing they'd devised was to mount Plexiglas as a precautionary measure, hoping that Tumba would relent when he saw that his feces couldn't reach his intended victims. But he kept on throwing it anyway, and they had to take down the Plexiglas because of the intolerable appearance. They were left with only one choice. Close down the exhibit. "The zoo director explained how he'd called upon the best gorilla experts in the world and no one had any viable solutions. So, he was resigned to do what he had to do, particularly in light of my mother's appearance. I asked him what would become of Tumba, and the director explained that he'd be shipped to a new zoo in Africa, closer to his original home. The zoo was going to exchange Tumba for a new gorilla. It seemed so clear to me that Tumba was simply doing what he had to do in order to change his habitat. Change his life. Make something happen - as if twenty-five years in the same cage was enough." Fifteen lowered his eyes to half-mast and squared them on Neruda. "So, my friend, is this what you want? A change?" Neruda tried to keep his eyes on Fifteen's, but after a few moments he had to look away, stumbling on his first few words like an awkward schoolboy. "I've... I... I think you're making assumptions that I believe Samantha's conclusions. And I'm not sure why you'd conclude that -" "I wasn't speaking about conclusions," Fifteen interrupted. "I was asking you the question, do you want to make a change?" He paused and then added, "I believe you'll know when I've made my conclusions." Neruda felt lost in some surreal dream that wasn't entirely of his own making. So many events of the past three days were whirling around in his mind, and none pressed upon him more intensely than the story he had just heard. He knew what Fifteen was saying. He also knew what Fifteen wanted to hear. "No," Neruda explained, "I don't want to leave or change my status with the ACIO. You're like a father to me. You know that. I don't have any intention on taking this story to the media or anyone else." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely," Neruda found his head nodding well after his word echoed into silence. Fifteen stood up and walked over to his bookcase. Only his directors and handful of others were aware of the treasures he kept there. Ancient manuscripts - many that Neruda himself had translated - were bound in humble leather of browns and dirty grays. He took down one of the largest of the books and opened it. Thumbing to a specific page, his eyes smiled like a leprechaun as he began to read aloud. "The Central Race is blessed with the identity of God instilled in them just as strong as man is endowed with the identity of an animal, humbled by an ego, so compelling as to render him incapable of understanding his creator." He turned a few pages. "There is no race so advanced as the race of human archetypes known as the Central Race. While there are none who know this race in our galaxy, their presence is universal, and all life within our galaxy is interpenetrated by their culture and vision." He put the book down on his desktop without a sound. On its tan-colored cover was the title, Liminal Cosmogony in gold, cursive type. "It was written by the Corteum, but you did the translations. You remember, twenty-five years ago, don't you?" Neruda remained silent, but his head nodded faintly in response. "So, my dear Jamisson, do you want a change?" Neruda flinched at the unrelenting method that Fifteen used to pull out into the light what he believed was protected or hidden. He could persist like no one else. It was the essence of his power. And Neruda felt his hypnotic persuasion rendering him increasingly vulnerable. He swallowed and reminded himself that he was at war with the most brilliant mind on the planet, and now was not the time to let exhaustion or intimidation get the best of him. "As I said before, Fifteen, I'm not seeking any change. You persist in this line of inquiry for reasons of your own, but I assure you, your suspicions are baseless." "We'll see," Fifteen intoned. "We'll see very soon." "I feel like someone who's unwittingly flung themselves in the cross-hairs of a witch hunt," Neruda said. "I've done nothing wrong other than to help Samantha. It's not my fault that she's made contact with the Central Race -" "What you think may be the Central Race," Fifteen corrected. "We still lack proof of who they are. They call themselves WingMakers, and yet our databases have no reference to this name whatsoever." "Yes, but we also know that they've implanted a series of technologies on our planet that clearly suggest they're the genetic curators of our species and probably most of the other animal life on this planet. Anything less than this conclusion would be denial. Wouldn't you agree?" It was Fifteen's turn to avert his eyes. He sat down, fingering the leather cover of the book he had just placed on his desk. "Jamisson, I had a succession plan with your name on it before you even completed this translation. You know that. From the age of seventeen, you were destined to become a member of the Labyrinth Group as its Director of Special Projects. What you don't realize, is that it doesn't end there." At Fifteen's remark, Neruda felt as though he was rotating above the flames of an invisible fire. He had never considered himself in line for Fifteen's position. He didn't know if he wanted it, much less if he was even capable of performing such a[n] esteemed and complex role. Fifteen would be impossible to replace. "Seems unlikely, huh?" Fifteen asked, smiling. "No, seems impossible." "You're not in the cross-hairs of a witch hunt, you're in the cross-hairs of a succession plan that involves you as my heir." "Why're you telling me this now?" Neruda asked, his voice suddenly distant and withdrawn. "I want you to know why I scrutinize your actions so carefully. It's not because I'm your adversary. I'm your future," Fifteen leaned forward, locking eyes with Neruda. "I need you to work with me, not against me. I feel you're being swayed by mythology... or... or at least a set of events that aren't exactly what they seem." Fifteen paused and leaned back in his chair as if waiting for Neruda to say something. "I think you expect too much from me," Neruda replied. "I'm not the one to fill your shoes, I don't know how I could possibly lead the development of Blank Slate Technology... let alone the ACIO. Why me?" "Because I selected you," Fifteen replied. "You'll just have to trust me on this." Neruda realized he had no choice. And if there was one thing he trusted, it was the soundness of Fifteen's decisions. "Does the rest of the Labyrinth Group agree with you?" "It's our little secret," Fifteen said with a wink. "No one really knows. I prefer it that way. However, with the intuitive power of this group, there's little doubt in my mind that everyone suspects it." "Do you really think the WingMakers are not what they appear?" Neruda asked, hoping to steer the conversation off of himself for a moment. "Assuming the Corteum are right, I believe the Central Race is incapable of deception," Fifteen looked at the book and then spoke in a measured, choppy style. "But - we - don't - know." Fifteen sat back and slipped his right hand behind his lower back, massaging a tender muscle. "Don't lose sight of the bigger issue," he added. "The so-called WingMakers could be a rogue subgroup of the Central Race or they could be representatives of the M51 synthetics. Who knows for sure? Don't be seduced by the unknown when the real world has a higher calling for your talents and skills. That's all I'm saying, Jamisson." Neruda listened carefully. His mind had recovered from the initial shock of Fifteen's disclosure. "What do you want me to do?" "I want you to stay on the project and concentrate on decoding what's on the optical disc. We have over eight thousand pages of information, and if you've seen David's email you know that we've found an access point into the disc. The information on this disc could be critical to our understanding of the technologies we've secured from the ETC site. But I need your focus and leadership." "What's to become of Samantha?" Neruda asked. Fifteen drummed his fingers on the top of his desk for a moment and then looked at his wristwatch. "She's being taken off the project." "Entirely?" "Yes." "Why?" "Because she's a security risk," Fifteen replied. "And she's a distraction to the project?" "Yes." "We're not going to perform any more RV sessions, are we?" "No." Neruda gathered his courage. "Will she stay in the ACIO?" Fifteen stole a glance at Neruda out of the corner of his eye. "As I said, she's a security risk. Let's leave it at that, my friend." "I can't leave it at that." "Why?" "Because I believe she's the best RV we've ever had, and this race - whoever they are - is connected to her in some way that none of us truly comprehends. To put her through a radical MRP and send her to... to God knows where is not only cruel and senseless, but stupid." Neruda folded his arms across his chest, looked to the ceiling and signaled his disgust with a long, drawn out sigh. He could feel his face flush crimson, expressing the telltale signs of anger that he couldn't suppress. He felt responsible for her eviction from the ACIO and he knew the effects of a radical MRP and dislocation program on Samantha. She'd never recover. He stood and walked over to Fifteen's refrigerator, taking a soda. He needed something to cool him down. Despite everything he felt for Fifteen, he knew he had a battle on his hands. Feverishly, his mind searched for a strategy to restore Samantha's good name. "Are you afraid she'll influence me in some unsavory way?" "The only thing I fear is that you'll follow her into oblivion." Neruda paused to take a deep breath before he answered Fifteen's comment. "Are you saying that Samantha will be killed?" "No." "Then what are you saying, exactly?" Neruda returned to his chair. "Oblivion is just a metaphor," Fifteen explained. "She's no longer part of the ACIO, and I can't afford to lose your services, Jamisson. It's that simple. You know the magnitude of our work. I shouldn't have to explain to you how vital you are to our plans. We need you to be sharp and focused. The path that Samantha has chosen, while regrettable, doesn't need to affect you. She's young and impressionable, and unable to control her self-interests. Don't make her same mistake. That's all I'm saying." "We shouldn't do this..." Neruda mumbled. "We must do this," Fifteen announced with strange conviction. "I swear to you, Jamisson, this decision is not reversible, so don't waste my time discussing it." "Who's performing the MRP?" "David is," Fifteen replied. "Evans will assist." "When?" Fifteen looked at his wristwatch. "Within the next hour or so." Neruda sighed. "Can I talk with her before the MRP?" "Why?" "She has information that might be vital to our understanding the purpose of the ETC site and its technologies. I'd like to get as much of this from her as possible before it's too late." "As I already told you, we talked with her. We know what she knows." "She wouldn't tell you everything." Fifteen picked up his phone and dialed a number. "David, I'm sending Jamisson up. Tell Evans I'd like Jamisson to have some time with Samantha before the MRP." Fifteen put his hand over the phone and whispered to Neruda. "How much time do you think you'll need?" "Twenty minutes?" Neruda shrugged. "Jamisson needs about twenty minutes," Fifteen said. He nodded listening to something David said. "Good, then I'll send him right up." Fifteen put the phone down gently. "Evans just arrived with Samantha. You should go now." "Do I have your permission to conduct this interview in private?" "Why private?" "If Evans is there, she'll clam up," Neruda explained. "She has insights that we need, and if we don't get them now, we'll never get them." Neruda stood to his feet as if Fifteen had no other choice. "I'll call Evans." "Thanks." Fifteen walked around the desk and held out his hand. "Do we have an understanding?" "We do," Neruda replied, shaking his hand as if a complicated business transaction had been completed. "Oh," Fifteen added, "the only thing I require is that this interview with Samantha is recorded. Understood?" "I assumed as much. I just don't want Evans in the room." Fifteen nodded and walked Neruda to the door, patting him on the shoulder like a father would his son. "Just so you know, I'm not stepping down anytime soon." Neruda laughed. "Good, because I won't be ready for about another twenty years." Fifteen smiled knowingly. "You're more ready than you realize." They shook hands again, and Neruda left, the office door clicking solidly behind him. On his way to the MRP lab, Neruda's mind focused on Samantha like a laser beam. He needed to help her, but he had no idea how he could do so without contradicting everything he'd just pledged to Fifteen. Something told him that he was through sleeping for the day.
When Neruda arrived at the MRP Lab, Evans eyed him with suspicion. "Looking for Samantha?" Neruda simply nodded. "She's in there," Evans said, pointing with his pencil to a closed door. Neruda scanned the security monitors and found the one with Samantha's blurred image sitting by a table with her hands propping her head up. She was staring at a box of white tissues. "You have twenty minutes," Evans reminded him, pushing a button on his wristwatch. Neruda opened the door as quietly as he knew how. Samantha didn't look up. She continued to stare, as if she'd lost interest in anything having to do with the outside world. Neruda placed his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. He could taste salt on his lips. "I'm sorry, Samantha." "For what?" Neruda pulled up a chair and sat down. He wasn't sure how to respond to her question, but he was relieved to hear her voice. "Are you okay?" She turned to look at him. Her eyes were swollen and red, and her hair was tussled like spaghetti. "I'm not sure what I am. I feel like a damn lamb being led to the slaughter, so, no, I'm not okay. I feel like shit. No, absolute shit. Perfectly shitty, that's how I feel. Glad you asked. And how the hell are you?" Neruda leaned back in his chair. He reminded himself that he'd never seen Samantha angry. It was a new side of her that he hadn't expected for some reason. He could imagine Evans smirking in the next room. "I think your description fits me pretty well, too." "Are you playing the role of the priest? Here to give me Last Rites?" "No one's going to die," Neruda said confidently. "I asked Fifteen if I could have twenty minutes to talk with you -" "No, you want to get every last piece of information out of my brain before I become a vegetable. That's it, isn't it?" Neruda looked down at his hands folded on top of the table. Samantha turned away and put her head on her arms. She looked as weary as he felt. "Samantha, you're right, but I don't have any options. If I could wave my magic wand and release you from this situation, I would in an instant. But I can't. What I can do is preserve some portion of your memory that can help this project." "Then tell me," she asked, "what's my disposition after the MRP? Am I escorted out of the ACIO to Timbuktu, or do I return to my post as an RV oblivious about the Ancient Arrow Project? Which is it? And don't lie to me." "I don't know where you'll be taken..." Neruda sighed long and hard. "But you won't be returning to the ACIO." "Thanks," she whispered. "What?" "Thanks." "For what?" "For being honest with me." "I only wish I could do more," he put his hand on her shoulder again. "What'll happen with my family? I mean, will I remember them? Will I be allowed to see them again?" "I don't know," Neruda confided. "I haven't been told how deep they're going with the process." "It's the hardest part - not seeing my family again. Can you make sure they don't do that?" "You have my word that I'll try my best." Neruda withdrew his hand and remained silent for a few moments while he collected his thoughts. "Samantha, I only have fifteen minutes. I need to know if there's anything you haven't told me yet that could be used to our advantage in decoding the ETC site. Can you think of anything?" "Are they recording our conversation?" Neruda nodded. "Did you bring a pencil and paper?" she remarked sarcastically. Neruda shook his head and smiled. "What would you do in my shoes?" "I'd walk out of here until they shot me. I'd resist until they forced me to submit. I'd never give them anything they could use. And I'd curse them so intensely they'd never be able to look themselves in the mirror without feeling guilty." "You make honesty into an art form, don't you?" Samantha snickered. "Are you sure they're recording this?" Neruda nodded, a thin smile gracing his lips. He knew he was being a bit boastful, but it was, in essence, the truth. "I'm exaggerating, but I wouldn't let them take my memory without a fight." "So how do I fight them?" she whispered, leaning a little closer to Neruda. "I don't want to get your hopes up. There's nothing I can do to reverse this decision. If there's something you know that you think could be valuable to our understanding, the best I can do is use it as a bargaining chip to help you negotiate something. But you have to tell me first." "So, I tell you something that's vital to the project that you don't already know. You tell Fifteen. Fifteen says, wow, this is great stuff! Let's keep her on the project - no, let's promote her to SL-10. Is that what you're suggesting?" Her voice raised in both volume and pitch, cynicism dripped from each word. For the first time, Neruda could fully sense the futility of their situation. It was nearly 4am. They were both tired. Samantha felt her sanity slipping away like someone caught in quicksand without a rope. His own anger and frustration were beginning to show through, and he didn't know how to contain it. His heart pounded like a tribal drum. "I'd do anything I could to put everything straight between you and Fifteen, but I don't know how I can do that. His mind is made up. Please, Samantha, if there's anything you know that would be useful to the project, share it with me now." "I'm no longer a member of the club, so fuck them all. That's how I feel." "That's it?" "I think fuck them all sums it up pretty well," she said. "Look, Samantha, I'm just trying to help, but you need to give me something -" "What I know that you don't wouldn't be helpful to the ACIO anyway." Neruda looked at his watch. He knew his time with Samantha was rapidly evaporating. "Who'd it be helpful to then?" "Look, I appreciate everything you're trying to do for me. I really do. But this is all going to happen just the way it's supposed to happen. Do you really think Fifteen, or anyone else for that matter, can change the course of this thing? I could tell you everything I know and it wouldn't change one little thing. This thing is huge, and it's gonna happen exactly as was planned billions of years ago." Samantha raised her head and leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. "The forces that're orchestrating this are not human or even extraterrestrial. They're ancient, primordial, fundamental... the very essence of life itself. It's been inside us from the start. The ACIO is kidding itself if it thinks it can hide anything from the WingMakers, or deny the unfolding of their plan. It's too late. Something happened twelve hundred years ago that set all of this in motion, and nothing's going to stop it." She turned her head to look at Neruda. "Nothing." At hearing a metallic edge to her voice, Neruda looked into her eyes. The back of his neck stippled with goose bumps and his body shuddered with chills. She was in a trance, and he had the uncomfortable feeling he was no longer talking with Samantha. "Who are you?" Neruda asked. Someone or something stared at him through Samantha's eyes. "Your technology will fail you," her lips moved awkwardly. "It is based on the unreality of your physics and your limited understanding of cosmological unity. It will fail you, mark our words." Neruda could sense a powerful, awe-inspiring presence. His skin crawled as a powerful electrical force pervaded the entire room, raising every hair on his body. The being using Samantha's body continued, her lips moved almost imperceptibly. "What you seek, what you believe you require, is nothing less than that which is perfected within you. And while this perfected aspect of you is invisible to your senses, it is all we can see of you. To our senses, your animal body and primitive human mind barely register. We see only the core of you, your essential consciousness. You have glimpsed this core as well, but you have seen it through the lens of technology, and not through an organic, natural awakening. You are therefore misguided. Your technology is flawed and will surely fail you." The voice stopped and Neruda struggled to think of something to say. He didn't want it - whatever it was - to go away. He had the sense that it could answer any question he could imagine. "What do you want?" he managed to ask. "We desire your awakening. We want only this." "How?" "It is not a question of how, it is a question of when." "Then when?" "It is soon." "Soon, in terms of days, weeks, months, years..." "Soon, in terms of minutes." Samantha's voice was barely a whisper. Neruda imagined Evans adjusting the gain control on the listening monitor. He looked into her eyes but could feel none of her present, as if she had physically left the room. Her head continued its awkward cant, staring into his eyes while it rested on the back of her chair. Her body was limp and lifeless except for her eyes. "Come closer before we leave," the voice commanded in a barely audible whisper. He leaned forward. "Closer. Put your ear to her lips." Neruda leaned forward, placing his right ear directly in front of her mouth. He closed his eyes, focusing all of his attention on the words coming from Samantha's mouth. "We are from the centermost point of existence. It is the place of your mythology, and yet we are not myths. We are the eldest of your kind, so ancient that we have been forgotten from your minds. Our presence is being re-established in your race so it can become reacquainted with its future. "We have placed within you a code that is activated by two words: Sovereign Integral. From this point forward, you are awakened to our mission and you will serve this mission even though you do not understand it. The code is now activated and you are awakened. You must leave. You must find the girl, Lea. She will appear to you through her mother, Sarah. You must leave now. Do not worry about Samantha. She is in our care, as are you. Go, and take this secret with you." Suddenly, the door flew open and Evans entered, his suspicious eyes darting around frantically. "What's going on?" he demanded. Neruda jerked his head up absentmindedly and spoke without hesitation. "Samantha needs some water. She's not feeling well." Evans left and returned momentarily with a plastic bottle of water. "It's mine, but she can have it." "Thanks," Neruda said, handing it to Samantha, now returned and disoriented and groggy. She drank the water and began to cough uncontrollably. Neruda wanted to pick her up like a child and put her to bed, but he knew other plans were in store for her. "Is she okay?" Evans asked. "She'll be fine, just give her a few minutes." "Fifteen wants to see you before you leave," Evans reported, hinting that it was time for Neruda to go. Neruda knew Fifteen had been watching his meeting with Samantha on closed circuit video. He'd probe him about what had been whispered in the last few minutes of his meeting. Secrecy unnerved Fifteen as few other things could. Neruda noticed that he felt oddly different. Somehow more confident. He knew that something had changed in him, though he couldn't place it. It was the feeling of being right, or, maybe it was the feeling of being on the right team. He had the sudden sense of conviction that he inherently knew what he needed to do, even though he didn't know what it was. He glanced at Evans and caught his eye. "Take good care of her." Evans nodded and remained silent, trying to look patient. Neruda leaned over and kissed Samantha on the cheek and whispered in her ear. "You'll be okay. I love you." His finger touched her cheek as tenderly as any lover's could. He felt a new energy coursing through his body, which was causing a tremor in his hand. Samantha smiled. Her expression relaxed, and the bitterness and anger that had possessed her earlier seemed extinguished. She formed silent words with her lips. "I love you, too." Neruda turned back to Evans. "Like I said, take good care of her." "Don't worry," Evans assured him. "You better go." Neruda took one last look at Samantha, turned and left. He had the uneasy feeling that it would be a long time before he'd see her again - if ever. He wondered what would become of her in her new world. He wondered the same about himself.
"Come on in, Jamisson," Fifteen said. "You could probably use some coffee about now." "You made coffee?" Neruda asked, his voice incredulous. "You've had a busy night," Fifteen said, ignoring Neruda's question and pouring a cup of strong, black coffee. "Care to tell me what went on?" "You watched?" "Yes." "Then you heard," Neruda mentioned. "There's not much to add." "Why don't you start with the part I couldn't hear?" Fifteen asked as he passed a cup of steaming coffee to Neruda. "She wasn't feeling too good," Neruda began, "and I tried to help her -" "Don't start down that path. If you do, you'll deeply regret it." Neruda locked eyes with Fifteen and felt his equal for the first time. He had no fear, and he knew Fifteen sensed this. "What do you want?" Neruda said in a frustrated tone. "If there's something specific that you're looking for, it would save us both a lot of time if you'd just tell me what it is so I can tell you what you want to hear. I'm tired of your suspicions." Fifteen eyed him as a man does when a lifelong friend suddenly becomes his adversary. Neruda could feel his scrutiny like a throng of emotions pressing in on his heart. He took a long sip of coffee and gathered his thoughts, knowing that Fifteen would assail him for his impudence. "For such a short conversation, you've changed in a rather dramatic way," Fifteen observed. "Are you sure you're prepared for the consequences?" "Perhaps more than you're prepared for what I have to say." "Let's remain civil, Jamisson. You don't want my wrath, I assure you. So, just tell me what was said. This is the last time I will ask." Neruda knew his threat was real. There were technologies that Fifteen could use - under severe circumstances - to retrieve memories from either an unwilling or forgetful source. It was an unpleasant, invasive, and potentially injurious experience. Neruda had never required it, but everyone in the Labyrinth Group was well aware of the procedure and feared its use. The after-effects were often described as a "simmering paranoia" beyond the mitigating influence of drugs or therapy. "You heard what she said," Neruda replied. "Our technology will fail us. She said the WingMakers' plan will -" "Stop! As you well know, I don't give a damn about what she said! I'm interested in the conversation you had with the entity that took over her body in the last four minutes of your discussion. You remember? The one that identified itself as we." Fifteen fiddled with the controls on his computer and swiveled his monitor so Neruda could see the screen. A video image of him with his head poised in front of Samantha's face filled the screen. "Even with full gain, I can't make out what is being said, and because you're blocking the view, we can't read her lips. You can understand why I'm suspicious, and you can understand why I'm growing more suspicious as a result of your obvious evasion. Just tell me the truth. It's all I want from you, and you can go home and get some rest. I think we all could use some more sleep." "I don't know who the entity was. It reiterated what it had said earlier. Our technology would fail. Their plan would prevail. That sort of thing. Evans interrupted before it could finish. That's all." Neruda took another sip of coffee, well aware that Fifteen was scrutinizing his body language. "Why is your hand trembling?" Fifteen asked. "The energy of this being or entity was amazing. The electromagnetic field in the room must have been off the scale, and it's a shielded room, too. I'm still in the throes of it." Neruda shifted in his chair. "Look, I'm sorry for sounding so damn pissed off, but I really care for Samantha and the thought of her mind being wiped clean... it... it just makes me angry. And then all of this suspicion on your part doesn't exactly help my state of mind. I need some time to deal with all of this." "Maybe a few days off - starting right now," Fifteen suggested. "No, there's too much to do now with the breakthrough David made last night. I want to start on it immediately." "Okay. Maybe I've been a little too intense about all of this," Fifteen said. "Accept my apologies. But in the future, be a little more forthcoming. Trust me. It worked for your father." Neruda set his coffee cup down on the table next to his chair, and pushed back his chair, standing up too quickly. His head swooned from the sudden rush of blood and he steadied himself with his right hand. "I appreciate your understanding, and I'll take your advice." "Which one?" "What?" "Which piece of advice will you take?" Fifteen asked, his voice clear and precise. "The one about trust. Being more forthcoming." "Good," Fifteen remarked. "But consider the other one as well - the one about taking some time off. It might be just what you need." Fifteen returned his monitor to its original position and hit some keys on his keyboard. "Have a good day, Jamisson. Update me as soon as you have something on the decryption. I'll be around all day." "I will, sir" Neruda said. "One more thing. Whatever happens with Samantha, I need your assurance that she'll be able to contact her family after this is all over." "I heard your remark on the video. You have my word." "Thanks," Neruda said. He walked to the door and turned around just as he reached for the doorknob. "Why do you have such strong suspicions about me?" "I have suspicions about everyone. You're just my latest target because of the circumstances surrounding your interactions with Samantha. It's quite obvious that she's under the control of forces that are not friendly to our cause. I know how easy it is to be seduced by the forces of change. Especially when that change is from a force like the Central Race." "Then you do believe the ETC site is their creation?" "It's the most reasonable hypothesis. But remember, Jamisson, Central Race or not, they're still human. Older, by billions of years perhaps, but not necessarily wiser. Remember that." Neruda nodded. "So experience doesn't amount to much?" "No, it's damn important, but so is ingenuity and passion, and a hundred other things. No one knows this race. We've encountered extraterrestrial races more ancient than our own, and are they so much wiser than we are? They simply have a more developed brain system or capacity for assembling data, but are their decisions infallible? No!" Fifteen stood and retrieved his sweater from the back of his chair, slipping it over his shoulder like a backpack. "We can't afford to rely on anyone for our safety. Let me remind you, the Corteum, with brain systems more than double our own, are now living on their home planet in underground cities, the result of their own undoing. It's not simply a matter of intelligence or experience. It's a matter of orchestrating a hundred variables toward a singular goal. It's what we do. And we do it better than any other organization on this planet. We can't afford to have our top people influenced by the romantic notion that the Central Race is our savior. We will be our own savior. I don't think there's any other way." He paused for a moment at the sound of his computer alerting him to a new email message. "If Samantha is in rapport with the Central Race somehow, and that entity who was talking through her was indeed a representative from the Central Race, or WingMakers, as they call themselves, then they seem convinced we'll fail. How could they know? Just ask yourself that question, Jamisson. How could they know?" Neruda shrugged. Fifteen reached for his briefcase and closed its buckles. "The whole notion of life before earth - of our planet being seeded by master geneticists, who were actually ourselves, just billions of years more evolved, may indeed be true. But doesn't it seem odd that they'd be relying on a junior RV to whisper something into your ear in order to convince us of the perfection of their plan and the futility of ours? Think about this the next time you feel them tugging at your conscience. Your life may depend on it." Neruda could feel the seduction of Fifteen's strategy. Plant seeds of doubt. Employ subtle threats. Hope that his hand-picked heir would step back into line. Neruda understood how Fifteen could believe that his strategy would have worked, except that now something within him was different. A brilliant, resolute, granite-like consciousness had moved over him, enveloping him in its incorruptibility. "I'll walk out with you," Fifteen said, heading for the door. "I'm gonna stop by the lab and see if David's still around," Neruda replied. "I'm anxious to have a look at his results. Besides, the coffee's kicked in, I couldn't sleep now if I tried." "I'll be back by eleven hundred hours. Give me an update then if you can." "I will. Good night," Neruda said. "Good night." Neruda walked down the hallway, opposite the direction that Fifteen walked. He noticed how well the sounds of their footsteps were synchronized until he could only hear his own. His attention shifted to the image of Samantha lying in the MRP lab, her memories being stripped out with surgical precision. Barren of eighteen days and all they held. Memories unlike any other on the planet. As he took the elevator to the lab he repeated the words, Sovereign Integral, in his mind, over and over like a momentum generator perfectly tuned to its source of energy. Each time the words rolled through his mind, he felt a propellant force, something within driving him towards a destiny of which he knew nothing except that it included a girl named Lea. He wondered how he'd ever be able to leave the ACIO to find her. How would this all happen? He smiled at the recollection of Fifteen's childhood story. Maybe Fifteen was more prescient than he knew.
When Neruda arrived at the computer lab, he noticed a handwritten note posted on his project monitor.
CHECK OUT FILE AAP-1220. YOU'LL FIND EVERYTHING YOU NEED THERE. I SENT FIFTEEN A DUPLICATE FILE. I'M BACK IN AT 1400 HOURS. LEAVE ME INSTRUCTIONS IF YOU WANT AND I'LL WORK ON IT AS SOON AS I ARRIVE.
An alert button drew his attention. He clicked it on. A video window instantly opened up and David's image slurred into motion. HI, JAMISSON. I ASSUME YOU'LL GET THIS FIRST. WE ASSUME THE ALPHABET IS INTERMIXED WITH MUSIC NOTATIONS OR MATHEMATICS BECAUSE IT HAS SO MANY CHARACTERS. IT COULD BE THAT THE ENTIRE ALPHABET IS MATHEMATICAL. THE GOOD NEWS IS THAT WE KNOW HOW TO ACCESS THE DISC AND IT'S CLEARLY INTERACTIVE. IT HAS THE EQIVALENT OF A PASSWORD; WE'RE CONVINCED OF THAT, BUT WITH FIFTY-TWO CHARACTERS IT'LL TAKE A LONG TIME TO RUN ALL COMBINATIONS. LEAVE ME AN INSTRUCTION SET. AS OF 2300, WE'VE BEGUN THE RANDOM GENERATOR PROCESS OF ASSEMBLING AND PROCESSING PASSWORDS. SEE YOU THIS AFTERNOON.
"I was just going over your report. It's great news." Neruda said, looking up at the monitor image of David. "How'd it go with Samantha?" "As well as could be expected. She's sleeping in recovery. I'm monitoring her right now - all vitals are strong." "Can you keep me posted on her recovery?" "No problem." David continued to make adjustments to his headband of glass fiber tentacles. He was dressed in a black sweater with thin white lines crisscrossing over his chest in a checker board pattern. "Any ideas about access strategies?" "Not really," Neruda said. "Are you confident that we'll be successful through a random generator process?" "If it's a mixture or combination of their character set, we've got everything we need. The only problem is time. We can assemble over ten to the thirteenth power password attempts per second, but the disc's validation process slows us down by a factor of two. Unless we get extremely lucky, we won't find it in our lifetime." David shrugged with a slim smile. "The disc's access entry," Neruda began, "how many characters does the space accommodate?" "Twenty-three, we think, but we're not absolutely certain." "So, if we place the right combination of their characters in the password space and input it to the disc, what result do you expect?" "We'll get a translation index for the disc. The good news is that once we find the correct password, it should only take us less than a minute to decode the entire text. But that's in theory." "How many passwords have you tested so far?" David closed his eyes. "As of this time-mark," he snapped his fingers, "approximately 3.65 to the sixteenth power." "Shit! That's not even scratching the surface," Neruda grumbled. "We could get lucky," David smiled. "I'm not interested in luck. Why exactly is it taking so long?" Neruda asked in frustration. "We're talking fifty-three characters -" "I thought you said it was fifty-two characters?" "It is, but we have to include the digital equivalent of an empty space because we don't know if there're multiple words." Neruda nodded before David had finished his sentence. "So there's twenty-three character positions, each of which could contain one of fifty-three characters. It's an astronomical number - forty some zero's." "The exact number is 4.5535 to the thirty-ninth power," David said. "Even without the relatively slow process speed of the disc, we'd still need over a trillion trillion years under ideal conditions to exhaustively test every possible password variation." "It might as well be infinity," Neruda said under his breath. "David, do you have the glyphs from the twenty-three chambers handy in your database?" "Of course?" "But you haven't included these?" "No." "If we included these, where're now talking seventy-six characters that could potentially create the password string." "Which adds thirty more zeroes to the number of years." "I can't believe they'd do that," Neruda lamented. "What?" "I can't believe a race this sophisticated would make accessing their data impossible. We're missing something." "Yeah, but to them, it may not seem very complicated," David asserted. "They may be able to do these computations in their head. Who knows?" "Except they knew we'd be finding this thing, and they'd expect us to be the ones to open this disc - not them." Neruda suddenly shot up in his chair. "David, let's try something different. Put the random generator on pause for a moment." "Done." "Okay, bear with me. Let's apply the random generator on just the first character in the password." "You mean apply each of the seventy-six characters to just the first character space of the password entry." "Exactly." "Woah," David exclaimed a moment later. "We got something, hold on." David closed his eyes. "I see it. We did it!" "What?" Neruda asked. "We have ourselves a translation index." Neruda clenched his fist. "Fantastic. Is it for the entire text?" "I'm checking it right now. Hold for a second." David's expression went blank, and then he smiled the smile of a fox. "You know what they did?" "What?" "They've segmented each of the twenty-four sections with its own password. The first character opens up the first section and only the first section. I'm looking at three hundred, twenty-one pages of perfect English. It should be onscreen in a few seconds." Neruda could tell that David was reading with his eyes closed. Moments later, it displayed on his monitor, and both he and David were entranced by the writing. A delicate silence ensued while they both read what they had struggled so hard to gain access to.
"Apparently," David began, "the password was only able to access the first section. We now believe that the second section is accessible if we found a two-character password, and the third would open with a three-character password, and so forth." "Let's try it," Neruda said impatiently. "If we're lucky, maybe the character set is reduced each time we open up a new section." David leaned forward in his chair. "Understood. The second section is opened and I'm pasting it to your screen now. The third will be up in ten seconds or so. "How many sections will you be able to open before we hit the time barrier?" "Assuming that there's no character set reduction, we'll get to the ninth section tonight - it'll take approximately twenty-seven minutes to open. The tenth section will take fourteen days. The eleventh section will take eleven hundred thirty-one days, or about three years. The twelfth section, eighty-five thousand nine hundred fifty-six days, or over two hundred years. You don't want to know the rest," David advised. "Shit, we won't even be able access half of the information contained on this disc?" "Bear in mind, I'm giving you the worst case scenario. We could get lucky with the eleventh section and find the password in the first week. However, probability dictates that we will only be able to reach the first eleven chambers - at least in our lifetime." "No other options?" "None that we can think of at the moment," David replied. Neruda could feel a surge of exhilaration and disappointment flood through his body. His attention returned to the text, as if it were the only thing left to do.
"Yes." "What do you make of it?" David started to speak, stopped, and leaned back in his chair. "We believe the introduction is further proof of an alien intelligence, but it's impossible to say whether it's the Central Race. It certainly makes for interesting reading, though. By the way, we just finished decoding the eighth section. We'll complete the ninth section in a little less than twenty-six minutes." "How many pages?" "Through the eighth section, we have two thousand, eight hundred and seventeen pages," David responded matter-of-factly. "We're printing them out, but it'll take another ten minutes or so to complete the printing. I assume you'll want the first copy." "Please," Neruda replied. He scrolled to the second page and continued reading.
"I've been a little preoccupied getting the other sections translated. Why?" "Can you look at the print out of section one and tell me what you see on page two." "Just a minute," David replied. "Do you want me to read this aloud?" "Yes." "Okay," David said, clearing his throat as if rehearsing for a play. "Life Principles of the Sovereign Integral - it's the heading. The entity model of expression is designed to explore new fields of vibration -" "Woah, how'd you get a different text?" "What do you mean?" "My second page is entirely different. How's it possible that you don't have the same -" Neruda stopped in mid-sentence. He was looking at his monitor screen, and the text he had been reading was suddenly gone and replaced with the text that David had been reading moments before. His mind went blank. "How's this possible?" He said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "What?" David asked. "What happened?" "I was reading text that just disappeared. It didn't print out, and you didn't read it. It's as if the second page was erased." "Like they were meant for only one pair of eyes?" "Exactly," Neruda exclaimed. "But how could they do that?" "Hold on a moment." David busied himself at a control panel. It was the monitoring system for ZEMI. "There's nothing wrong with ZEMI. All functions are normal. The only thing that would make sense is that the program was designed to be self-erasing from the source file. Nothing's been saved to our system. We were focused on opening up the files and printing them out." "Do it now," Neruda ordered. "Save everything you have the instant you open it." "Understood," David said. "Everything'll be saved in file name: AAP DISC CONTENTS ONE THROUGH ELEVEN." "Is the second page still the same?" "Yes." "Shit." "Perhaps you should take the time to reconstruct the text," David suggested. "You remember it, don't you?" "Yes, of course," Neruda answered, but he was already thinking how to keep it to himself. Too many things had happened in the past eight hours that convinced him that his world had changed, as if a gigantic hand had reached down, gathered him up, and dropped him on a new stage. He no longer felt a loyalty to the ACIO, but rather to the enigmatic WingMakers. It troubled him that his loyalties could be swayed so dramatically, but he also recognized that the creators of the ETC site, if they were the Central Race, offered every reason to make a change. "Why don't you just reconstruct it into a text file and I'll insert it into the second page," David offered. "I'll do it in the morning, David. I'm too tired right now. I think I'll read a little more and call it a night." "Okay," David replied. "Do you want the printout before you go?" "Yeah, is it done?" "Stop by on your way out and I'll have it ready for you." "Thanks." "Oh, one more thing," David remarked. "I was scanning the three hundred and twenty-one pages printed out for section one, and there's not that much text. Most of it is musical notations and what appears to be programming code. We're still not certain of its purpose, but it looks intelligible - it'll just take some time to translate it so we can construct an application model. Philosophical text represents five percent of the printed output, poetry is two percent, mathematics is eight percent, programming code is sixty-three percent, and music is twenty-two percent. It's a rather odd mixture." "Not for self-professed culture builders," Neruda said, smiling. David remained silent. Neruda returned to the text, eager to read more from the voice he had come to trust. He noticed familiar words in the title.
Neruda paused. His eyes expressed wonderment at what he had read. He felt his mind throwing off some long-established shackles. He was anxious to read more, but was also aware that his energy was draining away rapidly. He rubbed his eyes again. "David, are you done with the text print out yet?" "Almost." "I think I'll pack up and read the rest in the morning," Neruda said with a tired voice. "I'll have it all ready for you in three to four minutes." "Thanks, I'll stop by in five." Neruda glanced at the monitor unable to resist the temptation to see what the next section held.
"It's ready," David's voice interrupted. "Thanks," Neruda said absently as if his mind was lost on other matters. "So, what do you think so far?" David inquired. "It's fascinating, but I'll need more time with it before I could do justice to a critical review." "I'll leave the output from the first eight sections on my desk. Oh, and the ninth section'll be completed in another ten minutes. Do you want to wait?" "Sure, I'll wait. There's plenty to keep me occupied for ten more minutes. This isn't exactly light reading." "Even for you?" David chuckled. "Especially for me." "I'll let you know when it's ready," David remarked, and then changed his tone of voice. "We have a theory about the software programming." "I'll bite," Neruda said. "What is it?" "So far, each of the eight chambers has a similar data distribution. There's definitely a pattern. The majority of the data is programming code. We think the programming code is an activation sequence for the technologies found within the chambers." "Are the translations of the code applicable to ZEMI?" "No, but I think we can crack it. Though it'll take a little experimentation. "It'd help if we knew how to access their technology." "Agreed," David said, "but maybe if we could understand their programming language, we could figure out how to access the technology." "So you're talking about wireless code transfers?" "Perhaps. But it could also be the music or sounds that appear to be present in these texts. Maybe these activate them. We'll see - hopefully very soon." "Is everything saved within ZEMI's data architecture?" "Yes, at least through the eighth section." "Do a search on interface protocols." "No matches." "Damn. I was hoping we'd get lucky." "Anything else?" "No, I'll let you get back to work." Neruda put his hands through his hair and briefly rubbed the back of his neck. While his body was exhausted, his mind was reeling from all the events of the past eight hours and the text before him. He decided to resume his reading until David was ready with the ninth section.
David's voice interrupted Neruda's train of thought. "Are you still reading?" "Yes. Why?" "We have something for you." "And what's that?" "We found a form of hypertext linkages throughout the text. There's the equivalent of a glossary for each section of the text. I'm refreshing your screen with the new data files from ZEMI. Click on any word or phrase that seems unusual." Neruda pointed his cursor at the phrase, Sovereign Integral, and double clicked.
"It'll make the text more comprehensible. That's for sure," David remarked. "I think I'm going to run home and catch some shut-eye. Anything else you need before I go?" "No, I'm fine. I think I'll walk out with you, though. Can you bring the printout with you? I'll meet you at the elevator in two minutes." "No problem. Oh, and by the way, Samantha is up. Evans escorted her from our offices just a few minutes ago. She's fully recovered, and seems to be doing well." "Thanks, David. I appreciate the update." "You're welcome. Signing off." Neruda watched the ZEMI monitor fade to a brownish, dark gray. He turned his attention back to the text of section one, and moved his cursor to the phrase, Source Reality, and instantly a definition appeared.
He stood to his feet, knowing that he needed to close down the system and pack up in order to meet David. His body felt different, as though he had shed weight and was now the occupant of an elongated, not so coordinated, young swan's body. His head ached with the thought of Samantha. His whole world seemed in absolute turmoil, and yet he felt calm, as though he were inside the eye of the hurricane while all around him calamity struck. For some reason, the thought came into his mind to talk with Emily. Neruda let out a long sigh as he flicked off the overhead halogen lights. He felt more alone than he ever remembered feeling, even as a five-year old after his mother died. He knew that his defection was inevitable. He had no real choice but to find this girl Lea who held the key to this magnificent puzzle. The forces directing him were more powerful than his personal will. He could feel them propelling him into the future, but their faces were blurred in the indistinguishable fires of transformation that surrounded him. He smiled for the security cameras as he left the computer lab. A part of him was already thinking about the freedom that was beckoning him, and the danger that would undoubtedly accompany it. |
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11/05/02